


The Champion of Thornhill

by nerdgirlwalking



Series: Catalyst Verse [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Fluff, Is that guy from that thing...maybe, Root just doesnt want her to break her ass, Shaw is really bad at this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdgirlwalking/pseuds/nerdgirlwalking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thornhill's newest knight, Sameen Shaw, was just supposed to be a minor participant in the Grand Tourney. But after an accident befalls Ser Reese, it's up to Shaw to represent the kingdom in the main event. There's just one problem, she kind of sucks at jousting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Champion of Thornhill

**Author's Note:**

> April Fools! There’s a sequel to The Catalyst's Tale already. Double reverse April Fools! It’s not the one I mentioned at the end of The Catalyst’s Tale.  
> I just wanted to post something fun today and this was the result. Takes place some time in the year between Chapter 16 of Catalyst’s and the Epilogue. 
> 
> Now all my knowledge of the joust is based on A Knight's Tale, The Tudors, and a few fantasy novels of a questionable nature, so fair warning on that front. But I hope you guys don't come to my stuff for historical accuracy...

 

The day was overly warm for early spring. Ser Sameen Shaw, Dragon Slayer of Thornhill was leaning against a fence post on the tourney grounds watching her associate Ser John Reese training the joust for the upcoming event. “You’re veering left.”

 

“Because you’re the jousting expert.”

 

“I may not clop around shoving pointy sticks at people, but I have functioning eyes.” She pointed at the training dummy set up on the other side of the tilt barrier from Reese. “Your last three strikes have all drifted progressively further to the left side of your target.”

 

Reese shook his head as he examined the dummy, smudges of black paint from his lance indeed migrated across the left side of the target. “Arm’s getting tired.”

 

“Well, you have been out here since sun up.”

 

“It’s important we make a good showing.” Representatives from most of the five kingdoms would be in attendance. As the host nation it was essential they represented Harold well to save face.

 

Shaw smirked, “Well, I’ve got the sword all locked up.” She was competing on behalf of Thornhill in the close combat portions of the tournament. Apparently, three competitors had withdrawn their names from the event based on her reputation alone.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Reese grumbled as he handed off his lance to a squire and climbed down from his horse. Two stable boys rushed forward to tend to the beast.

 

“Don’t be jealous because I am scarier than you,” Shaw quipped.

 

“Is that what this feeling is?”

 

Shaw shrugged as the pair of them began walking towards the tent that had been set up for their breaks. The tournament was being held at Lord Elias’ manor on the outskirts of the city. “You know I’m not the best judge of that stuff.”

 

“Ah yes you only do angry, hungry, and horny.”

 

“Occasionally funny.”

 

“Not so much.”

 

“Root thinks I’m funny.”

 

Reese stopped walking. “Root thinks executions are funny.” She once laughed in the middle of a sentencing. Lady Carter had yelled at her about proper decorum for forty minutes afterwards.

 

Shaw thought about it for a minute, “Sometimes they are?”

 

He shook his head and pressed on towards the tent. “Why aren’t the pair of you married again?” They were both insane. It was a perfect match really.

 

“Because marriage is for chumps,” Shaw grumbled. “And it would be letting Root win.”

 

“She’s going to wear you down someday.”

 

“Please, I don’t crumble under torture,” Shaw scoffed. She would outlast Root. Maybe…

 

“Is that what Root is?”

 

Shaw grinned wolfishly, “Sometimes.”

 

Reese held up his hands, “I really do not want to know.”

 

After a brief meal Reese returned to his horse and Shaw returned to her place holding up the fencing. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

 

Shaw turned her head to see Lady Carter walking towards her. “Hey the plague ridden finally escaped from her bed.”

 

“Funny Shaw, very funny,” Carter huffed as she came to stand beside the other woman along the fence row. She had been suffering from a terrible cold recently. Something was going around the court. First, Carter’s son had taken ill and then once he was almost right again she followed. Shaw was glad to see her up and about.

 

“How are you feeling?” Shaw asked.

 

“Better,” Carter smiled at Shaw’s rare show of concern. “Just in time too. Or Zoe would have had to play Master of Ceremonies tomorrow.”

 

“Are you sure you didn’t get sick because she was trying to poison her way into the job?”

 

“Our Lady Morgan does enjoy the sound of her own voice but no,” Carter laughed. “She’s got enough on her plate sneaking around the tents gathering secrets she can use for leverage later.”

 

“Does Zoe realize that she and Root have the same hobbies?” Root had been down right gleeful at the opportunity to gather dirt on the nobles gathered for the tourney.

 

“Probably, but I’ll be sure to remind her of it if she gets mouthy later.” Everyone knew Zoe, while appreciating what Root’s reputation could garner for the kingdom, was just a tiny bit afraid of King Harold’s eldest heir. Granted, that was only smart. Root could be incredibly frightening when she put her mind to it.

 

“Can I be there?” Shaw snickered. A flash of yellow across the field from them caught her eye. A tall blonde woman was standing between two of the tents watching Reese. Shaw hadn’t seen her before, which wasn’t unusual in and of itself with all the visitors. Still there was something in the woman’s expression that gave Shaw pause. As if she were expecting something to happen.

 

Shaw tapped Carter on the shoulder and nodded to the blonde. “Who’s Lady Crazy Eyes over there?”

 

“That’s Lady Martine Rousseau of Decima.”

 

“What is a Decima noble doing on this side of the boarder?”

 

“Her estate is right on the southern boundary between Decima and Thornhill.” Carter frowned, “King Harold had some crazy idea about the competitive spirit of tourney fostering stronger ties between the kingdoms.”

 

“Yeah Reese kicking her ass is going to make King Greer all warm and fuzzy towards us I’m sure.”

 

“The king’s heart is in the right place.”

 

“One of these days his head is going to end up in the wrong one, if he keeps trying to make nice with Greer.” Guy tried to unleash a tiny mountain sized dragon on the kingdom, he was clearly not friendship material.

 

“We’re negotiating from a position of strength now thanks to you,” Carter smiled. “King Harold is simply trying to extend an olive branch for the good of the citizens of both nations. This ongoing conflict is hurting too many people.”

 

“And whose fault is that?”

 

Carter pinched the bridge of her nose, “I know. Look at it this way. It will be highly satisfying watching John put that woman in the dirt.”

 

“If only it were permanent.”

 

Carter slapped Shaw on the shoulder, “Is your solution to everything violent?”

 

“Violence is fun,” Shaw shrugged.

 

“Why aren’t you and Root married already?”

 

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

 

“Because you’re dragging your feet for no good damn reason.”

 

Shaw turned to glare at her. “Not wanting to be forced into marrying someone isn’t a good reason?”

 

“Please,” Carter scoffed. “You and I both know no one has been forcing you to stay with Root since around day two of your acquaintance. You don’t want to get married fine, but don’t try and blame it on that.”

 

Shaw turned to lean back against the fence. “Marriage is not something I ever wanted.”

 

Carter mirrored her posture. “Was being a knight?”

 

“God no,” Shaw snorted.

 

“Still seems to suit you. Maybe marriage would too?”

 

Shaw’s eyes narrowed. “Did Root put you up to this?”

 

“Do I look like I take that crazy’s orders?” Carter laughed. “No offence.”

 

“None taken,” Shaw shook her head. Neither she nor Root could be described as completely well in the head. It wasn’t always a bad thing.

 

“You two are good for each other,” Carter gently supplied. “I know Root has never been as happy as she’s been the past few months.”

 

“I don’t…” Shaw began but was interrupted by the sound of Reese’ horse screaming. The pair spun around to see the horse flailing about. The beast stomped the dirt wildly sending clods of earth and clouds of dust flying everywhere.

 

“Where’s John?” Carter asked.

 

Shaw scanned the area. “There,” She pointed. Reese was lying face down on the ground. Dangerously close to the spooked horse. Shaw grabbed the fence rail and jumped up.

 

“What the hell happened?” She shouted as she vaulted over the fence.

 

“I don’t…” Carter panted right on her heels. She pointed to something a few paces away from where Reese lay. “Wait there.”

 

Shaw followed the line of her arm. It looked like a coil of rope had been randomly dropped in the dirt. Her eyes narrowed as the rope began to move. “Son of a…” She cursed and drew a knife from her belt. With a flick of her wrist the snake that had spooked Reese’s horse was dead.

 

Carter skidded to a stop next to Reese, kicking up a puff of dust. Shaw grabbed the reins of his horse trying to calm the animal down before anyone else got hurt. Two stable hands ran out to see what the commotion was all about.

 

“Get a litter,” Carter shouted at them. They turned and sprinted for the healer’s tent. Another boy soon appeared to take the now, mostly settled mount from Shaw. Once the horse was squared away, she looked around. Martine was gone. Funny, that a lady wouldn’t come to an injured fellow’s aid. Shaw gritted her teeth and walked over to the culprit behind this accident.

 

Shaw crouched down and pulled her knife from the serpent’s body. One close look at the black and red scales and she knew something was off. There was no way a snake like that would wander out here on accident. She clenched her fist. Someone was going to bleed for this.

 

“How’s John?” Shaw asked as Carter stepped into the refreshment tent a few hours later.

 

“He’s already awake, even with the knock on the head.”

 

“And his leg?” That had looked bad.

 

“Fortunately, it was a clean break. Unfortunately, it puts him out of the tourney.” She walked over to a small table where a collection of bottles rested.

 

“I know,” Shaw replied. “King Harold already asked me to step in, to take his place.”

 

Carter poured herself a cup of wine and downed it in one swallow. She immediately refilled her cup. “Well, at least that’s one less thing for me to worry about. Who will take your spot in the sword?”

 

“Wells.”

 

“So maybe we won’t lose there too?”

 

“Who says we’re losing the joust,” Shaw scowled.

 

“Have you ever jousted in a tourney before? Been part of a heavy cavalry charge?”

 

“Not exactly but…”

 

“Trust me it’s harder than it looks,” Carter took another drink. “I volunteered.”

 

“But King Harold told you no because you’re still getting over your illness,” Shaw supplied. Carter nodded. “Yeah, he explained that to me already.”

 

“So what’s next?” Shaw asked pouring a drink of her own. “Martine Rousseau had something to do with it. I’d bet my horse.”

 

“Most likely,” Carter nodded. “But we don’t have any definitive proof of any tampering.”

 

“A snake just happens to slither out into the middle of the training field? A snake, that I might add is not native to lands this far north?”

 

“I know, but that’s not enough to go after her, given the current situation with Decima.”

 

“I can get you more,” Shaw crossed her arms over her chest. “Give me five minutes alone in a dark room with her.”

 

“You better be referring to me,” Root said as she joined them.

 

“We need to get a confession out of Lady Rousseau,” Shaw explained.

 

“I could probably get one in three,” Root smiled.

 

“Neither of you are torturing a confession out of that woman.”

 

“Killjoy,” Root pouted. Shaw grinned at her. Root took the cup from Shaw’s hand a knocked back the rest of its contents. Shaw glared at her and then moved to get a refill.

 

“I can tell you for a fact that Martine was behind this though.” Root tapped her temple, “She saw everything. If I hadn’t been halfway across the estate when she warned me, I might have been able to save the poor troll.”

 

“Unfortunately, I can’t use the voices in your head to bring up formal charges against a foreign noble.”

 

“It’s good enough for me,” Shaw replied coming to stand next to Root once again. “Let’s gut the bitch.” Root bounced at the prospect of some yummy violence.

 

“No gutting.”

 

“Again, killjoy.”

 

“Well, apparently no one saw anything,” Zoe huffed as she too stepped into the tent.

 

“Gang’s all here,” Shaw muttered under her breath. Root bumped her with her hip.

 

“Not surprising, Rousseau is smart enough not to be seen,” Carter sighed. “If it was her that is.”

 

“If,” Zoe snapped. “If? Are you kidding me right now?”

 

“Woah down girl.”

 

Zoe closed her eyes and expelled a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Your boy got messed up. Trust me we all get why you’re pissed,” Shaw replied.

 

Zoe nodded her thanks, “We’ll have to keep an eye on your equipment Shaw. Make sure she doesn’t try anything again.”

 

“Why would she try anything against Sameen?” Root looked between the three of them. “Is she participating in the sword too?”

 

“Uh…”

 

Carter grabbed Zoe by the elbow, “We’re going to go check on John.”

 

“Right, away from here. Far away from here. Good luck, Shaw.”

 

Root whirled on Shaw, “Sameen, what did Zoe mean about keeping an eye on you?”

 

“I sort of agreed to take Reese’s place in the joust. No big deal.”

 

“No big deal?” Root bristled. “Someone just tried to kill him!”

 

“I thought She told you it was Martine?”

 

“That’s not the point right now.”

 

“Look, Root, she’s not going to be stupid enough to try the same trick twice,” Shaw flopped down in a chair, “And we’ll be on the lookout for her tricks this time.”

 

Root began to pace back and forth, “Why does it have to be you?”

 

“Something about proper representation for the kingdom. Reese is obviously out. Zoe’s little stick arms can’t hold the lance up long enough and Carter is still getting over that cold so Harold won’t let her do it.”

 

“But why you?” Root sat down on Shaw’s lap. She snatched the cup from her hand and drained it again. The she tossed it over her shoulder.

 

“Does the king have any more personal knights here in the capitol I don’t know about?”

 

“What about me?”

 

Shaw tapped Root on the chest. “Princess.” Then she tapped her own, “Knight.”

 

“It’s not like most people know I’m a princess,” Root scoffed. She could do it.

 

“Because the crazy assassin lady standing in as the King’s Champion would look so much better?”

 

Root pouted, “Do you even know how to joust?”

 

“You hit the other guy with the big stick. How hard can it be?”

 

The answer to that question became evident the next day before Shaw even picked up a lance. She grunted as Cole and Silva fit her for plate armor. “I don’t know why I can’t wear my own stuff.”

 

“Because someone is going to try and shove a lance through your sternum.” Cole shook his head, “Leather won’t cut it.” They were fortunate that they had enough random pieces of armor around the shop to fashion a makeshift suit of plate for Shaw to wear.

 

“How does anyone fight in this? It’s so heavy,” She grumbled as she tried to settle the heavy metal more comfortably across her shoulders.

 

“Not everyone is a tiny, angry person?”

 

“I’ll show you angry if you call me tiny again new blood,” Shaw growled at Silva.

 

“Shaw, Silva’s almost as good with a hammer as you are,” Cole scolded her. “No maiming the help.”

 

“The help is going to take a hammer and shove it up your…”

 

“I take it back, Cole,” Shaw interrupted, “I like this one.”

 

“Thanks I think,” Silva smiled. She pulled the final strap tight and secured Shaw’s breast plate. “There you go, all buttoned up.”

 

Shaw cracked her neck, “Let’s get on the horse and test things out, I guess.”

 

Climbing on to Razgovor’s back became another battle. They had to go and fetch her a set of steps. Shaw had nearly beat the grooms over the head with them. She wasn’t that short. She simply wasn’t accustomed to moving in so much plate.

 

She had also caught Martine Rousseau lurking behind one of the tents. The amused smile on the woman’s face made Shaw want to run her down. But she heard something like her father’s voice in her head telling her to beat the woman on the field. So she sucked back her rage and threw herself on to the horse’s back.

 

They trotted around the field for a few laps so both horse and rider could adjust their balance under the new weight. Then Cole handed her a lance. They made a few laps with her simply holding it, again to get the feel for the proper balance. Finally, Shaw brought Razgovor to the end of the tilt and squared her shoulders. Cole had set Reese’s training dummy back up at about the halfway point. When he whistled she urged her mount forward.

 

Shaw pressed Razgovor into a gallop. She raised the lance as she drew nearer to the training dummy. She braced herself for the impact and aimed. Only to completely miss the target on her first pass. She sneered at herself and then motioned for the horse to circle back around. She proceeded to miss again, three times in a row in fact. On the fourth pass she missed the dummy again but managed to get the lance stuck in the tilt barrier.  

 

“This isn’t going to go well is it,” Cole groaned as he turned to Silva.

 

She swallowed. “Think I’m going to put my coins on the Decima bitch tomorrow.” Cole moaned and began to knock his head against the fence post.

 

“How hard could it be?” Root teased Shaw later that evening as she helped her dress for the opening ceremonies.

 

“So I may have underestimated things a little,” Shaw huffed. “That’s what practice is for.”

 

“Did you manage to hit the dummy today?”

 

“Twice.”

 

“Out of how many attempts?” Root teased. She knew exactly how many. Needless to say Shaw had not made an impressive first foray into the joust.

 

Shaw ignored her to grumble about her current state of dress. “I look like a moron.” Hair tumbling down across the shoulders, she had been scrubbed and polished like Harold’s favorite chalice. And then draped in Thornhill green and gold. “Is this really necessary?”

 

“You need to make an impression Sweetie,” Root remarked as she cinched Shaw’s belt one final notch. “We can’t put our best foot forward if we’re running about covered in dirt and with our belt undone.”

 

First of all, Root was the reason her belt had been undone, not that Shaw was ever going to complain about that. However, “I was covered in dirt because I was practicing for this stupid tourney. I was going to take a bath,” She grumbled and ran a hand over her hair, “It’s just the rest of all this.” She picked at her tunic, “What is this made from silk? Do you know how may steak dinners I could get for this?”

 

“I love how indignant you get about nobles’ tendency for excess,” Root smiled, “Except in banquet halls of course.”

 

“Everyone has to eat, Root.” Banquets have everything and you can eat, as much of it as you want. There was nothing wrong with that. Shaw supposed they could give the leftovers to hungry poor people or something. Not that there were many leftovers at any party she was invited to. Maybe they could scrape up enough to feed an orphan or two? Tiny ones?

 

She was broken from her reverie by Root’s lips on hers. “What?” She asked when the other woman pulled away.

 

“For luck,” Root beamed.

 

Shaw cocked an eyebrow, “I thought the other thing,” She gestured to her belt, “Was for luck?”

 

“You misunderstood,” Root giggled. “That was me getting lucky.”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“A lucky idiot,” Root tapped her on the nose and then laughed at Shaw’s attempt to bat her hand away. She took a step back and looked Shaw up and down, “You look handsome.”

 

Shaw rolled her eyes, “Yeah whatever.”

 

“Now remember,” She began as she settled a light cloak over Shaw’s shoulders. “Carter will announce you and then you have to strut across the field like you own every pair of smalls in the place…”

 

“Really?” Shaw snorted.

 

Root shrugged, “You look that good, Sameen.” She ran her tongue across her teeth, “Not that you’re collecting anyone’s but mine tonight.”

 

“You’re not wearing any.”

 

“And who’s fault is that?” Shaw wisely didn’t reply. If Root didn’t want her smalls ripped from her body, then she should take them off faster. The princess smiled as if she knew exactly what Shaw was thinking. She cleared her throat, “Strut across the field, take your position in the row, and wait for Carter to announce the draw for the first round. Then it’s party time.”

 

“Are you two decent?” Zoe hissed from outside of the tent.

 

“Never,” Root replied.

 

The pair of them chuckled when they heard Zoe groan, “Ask a stupid question.”

 

“I’ll be right out, Morgan,” Shaw grumbled, taking pity on the woman. She checked the clasp on her cloak and turned to grab her favorite knife from the table.

 

“You probably shouldn’t stab anyone, Sameen,” Root playfully whispered.

 

Shaw tucked the knife into her left boot, “Like you don’t have any blades on you?” She knew for a fact that Root had five knives on her person right now. Then she licked her lips at the reason why she knew that.

 

“Oh yes,” Root nodded. “Seven.”

 

Wait what? Shaw’s eyes narrowed as she looked the other woman up and down. How had she missed two? Root chuckled and gave Shaw a shove towards the entrance of the tent. “Get going lover.”

 

Shaw scowled, “No.”

 

“Well, you won’t let me call you wife…yet.”

 

“We don’t do cute little names. That’s stupid.”

 

“Whatever you say, Sweetie.”

 

“Hey idiots,” Zoe hissed. “Get a move on, Joss is about to call you.”

 

Shaw glared at a smiling Root one last time and stepped out of her tent. The three of them walked the short distance to the entrance to the lists that the competitors were taking the field through.

 

“Representing Thornhill, the Dragon Slayer, Ser Sameen Shaw,” Carter announced. Zoe waved for Shaw to step forward.

 

Shaw squared her shoulders and strode on to the field. The crowd erupted into wild cheers. Being the “local” girl Shaw was a favorite. She walked past the other contestants as she made her way to her spot near the end of the row. She swallowed as she recognized one of the competitors right away. She clenched her jaw as she drew closer to Tomas. She noticed his eyes widening as he recognized her in return. Well, that was going to be awkward later.

 

“Shaw,” Grice nodded as he came to stand in the final place beside her.

 

“Grice,” Shaw greeted in turn. Grice wasn’t a bad guy. Good with a sword, didn’t talk too much. Had gotten burned in that whole Samaritan thing and wanted to stick a knife in former Ser, Simmons almost as much as she did.

 

“I didn’t know you jousted.”

 

“I don’t normally,” She replied. “But when Reese fell down and broke his crown…”

 

Grice chuckled at her use of the popular children’s refrain, “The King couldn’t find anyone else with only two days before the tournament’s opening?”

 

“Got it in one.”

 

“Well, I promise not to knock you on your ass too hard should we meet in the lists.”

 

There were eight knights competing in the joust. Shaw, and Grice were the only ones from Thornhill. Lady Rousseau of course represented Decima. Tomas and another man who was also well known on the tourney circuit, weren’t representing any particular kingdom. They were here for the purse. A Lord Nolan stood for Hudson. Ser Snow, ironically, for one of the southern kingdoms. And Shaw was relatively certain the walking brick wall with a beard standing at the far end of the row was one of the tree people. Who knew they were jousting fans?

 

Carter removed the cloth covering the board revealing the pairings for the first round. Shaw rolled her eyes when she found hers. Of course she’d draw Tomas in the first round. Of course she would. “Looking forward to it, Shaw.” He laughed from down the row.

 

“The first match of the Grand Tourney will occur tomorrow at mid-day, Lord Nolan vs Ser Snow. Lady Rousseau will face Grice of House Langley thereafter. Ser Shaw and Tomas of House Koroa will follow…” Shaw zoned out as Carter listed the timing for the last match of the first round.

 

Later that evening Shaw stood in the manor’s grand ballroom nursing a cup of ale. In celebration of the opening of the tourney a combination of a feast and dance was being held. She had already polished off an entire pheasant and several tubers on her own and was walking about a bit to digest before going for seconds.

 

“Lady Shaw,” Tomas suddenly appeared at her side and bowed.

 

“Tomas,” Shaw nodded.

 

“I was shocked to discover you were not entirely honest at our first meeting.”

 

“Yeah, well you know how it goes, King gives you a mission, bunch of idiots out to get the job done as well…” She trailed off.

 

He took her hand. “Oh you misunderstand me,” He kissed her knuckles, “I find a bit of deception exhilarating.”

 

“I just bet you do,” Shaw grinned as she watched a fuming Root cutting through the crowd from over his shoulder. “I wasn’t bull shitting you completely with the flirting.” The guy had a great ass, who wouldn’t be interested? And she really didn’t want any hard feelings with anyone other than Rousseau coming up during this thing. One opponent with a vendetta was quite enough.

 

Tomas smiled, “And are you inclined to do more than flirt now?”

 

And now he made it awkward, “If you’ll excuse me. I should probably mingle with the king’s guests. Got to represent and all that.”

 

“Of course,” He bowed again. “I look forward to meeting you in the lists my lady. Among other things.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

 

“Yeah,” Shaw nodded and stepped back. Root was going to kill him. Or her. Or them both. Just peachy. She smiled as her fiancé approached. “Root.”

 

“He better keep his lance to himself,” She growled as she hauled Shaw off into a deserted corner behind a couple of suits of armor.

 

“Pretty sure the entire point is for me to avoid his lance,” Shaw chuckled at Root’s jealous ire.

 

“You damn well better.”

 

“Root, honestly,” She groaned. She really, really did not want to have to spell it out for the other woman.

 

“What?”

 

Shaw shook her head. She couldn’t believe Root was actually making her say it. Wait, it’s Root of course she was. “You’re all I can handle for the moment. I’m not looking to jump into anyone else’s bed. Not Tomas’, not anybody’s, okay?”

 

Root practically tacked Shaw in a crushing embrace. “Oh Sameen, me too.”

 

Shaw scowled, “Get off me, you idiot. We’re in public.” Sure they were pretty well camouflaged back here but anyone could stumble upon them.

 

“No hug me back, that way that lout knows you’re off limits.” She slid a hand down towards Shaw’s butt. It was sort of an obsession of hers. She took every opportunity to give it a good squeeze.

 

“I think seeing you grope me would only encourage him.” Shaw was pretty sure Root would stab Tomas on the spot if he asked to join in.

 

Root sighed and let go, “You may have a point.”

 

“I usually do if you’d just listen to me.”

 

Root leaned in and nipped at her bottom lip. “Don’t pout. It’s unbecoming.”

 

“Really?” If Root wasn’t leering she was pouting. Sometimes she managed to pout and leer at the same time. It was some odd, dark magic if Shaw had ever seen any.

 

“What?” Root shrugged. “Oh I love this song, dance with me.”

 

“No.”

 

“Please?”

 

“No.”

 

“I’ll do that thing you like.”

 

“What thing?” Root gave Shaw’s ass another squeeze. “Oh that thing.” Shaw looked around. “Okay, deal, but back here where no one can see us.”

 

The next morning a very chipper Root made her way between the shadows surrounding the stables. It was early yet so not many of the grooms and stable hands were milling about. She had left a smiling Shaw in bed snoring away. She had one little job to finish and then she’d be on her way back to her. Hopefully, they could get in another round of their favorite dance before Shaw had to come out here.

 

Everything was going according to plan when She gave a harsh warning in her ear. _Hurry. Someone is coming._

 

“No worries, I just finished.” Root moved to the opposite side of the stall and began rubbing the snout of its friendly occupant.

 

“You there,” Tomas called out as he rounded the corner. “I saw you with Lady Shaw last night at the ball.”

 

“Ser Shaw,” Root practically growled.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“She prefers to be referred to as Ser, if you must use a title, use that one. Though she’d prefer it if people didn’t use any at all.” Normally, Root wouldn’t share that information but she knew how she loathed Harry referring to her as Samantha all the time. Gen she didn’t mind so much as she didn’t care for her sister to know the true extent of her dealings as Root just yet. Also the kid was just too adorable to scold about such a thing.

 

“Ah you must be a good friend of Ser Shaw’s to know this.”

 

Root nodded, “Shaw and I are exceptionally close, yes.” Closer than you’ll ever be if you want to keep all your appendages attached, you smarmy jack ass.

 

“I don’t believe I caught your name, Lady?”                                   

 

“Ginsberg, Lady Alice Ginsberg.” She held out her hand.

 

Tomas took it in his and placed a kiss on the back of it. She fortunately didn’t make a poor face at the feel of his chapped lips against her skin. “A distinct pleasure,” He purred.

 

“I’m sure,” Root muttered as she pulled her hand away. She managed not to wipe it on the fabric of her borrowed skirts, but only just.

 

“What brings you to the stables this early in the morning?”

 

“Oh I’m simply fascinated by the horses. Great majestic beasts. I live by the sea you see…”

 

Tomas leaned against the wall. The move brought him within a hand’s breath of Root. “Ah not so accustomed to a sturdy mount?”

 

“I spend far more time among the waves.”

 

“There is something to be said for their gentle lapping. All that wetness…”

 

Root suppressed a scowl, did he really just? “Of course, but one does occasionally wish to examine the unknown.”

 

“Well, feel free to get to know my steed all you like.”

 

“He is a big fella.” She blinked at him, “Is that to compensate for something?”

 

The insult flew right over his fat head. “One needs a great deal of power to thrust the lance just right.”

 

“I hear you’re most talented with a lance.”

 

“I’ve been known to drive it home a time or two,” He smirked. “Are you interested in my form?”

 

“Not hardly,” She mumbled under her breath.

 

He frowned, “Pardon?”

 

“And what’s this about?” A voice cut in before Root could explain herself.

 

Tomas turned with a brilliant smile, “Ah Lady Morgan, I was just explaining the importance of a stiff lance to Lady Ginsberg.”

 

“Yes, can’t be running about all flaccid,” Root mumbled.

 

Zoe looked like she had bit into a lemon. “As weirdly fascinating as I’m sure that conversation is, Lady Ginsberg’s attention is needed elsewhere.”

 

“A pity,” Tomas sighed.

 

“Thank you for the chat,” Root demurred.

 

“Anything for such a beauty,” Tomas bowed. Back turned to him Root rolled her eyes. It took a great deal of willpower for Zoe not to smirk at the expression. Root strode past her and out of the barn. With a nod to Tomas, Zoe followed.

 

“What the hell are you up to?” She hissed once they were out of earshot.

 

“Why do I have to be up to anything? You are so paranoid,” Root scoffed. That had been close.

 

“And you are a demon from hell.”

 

Root smiled wickedly, “Awe you are so sweet to me Zoe, but you know my heart lies with another.”

 

“Speaking of, you know Shaw will kill you for interfering.”

 

“You saw Tomas.” Root rolled her eyes, “He was perfectly fine and slimy as ever.”

 

“Some women would call it charm.”

 

“And some women are half-wits.”

 

Zoe shook her head, “Green is not your color.”

 

“What are you doing out here this early anyway?” Root deflected. She wasn’t jealous. She had nothing to be jealous over. Just because Tomas was handsome and charming and put his lips on her Sameen.

 

“Checking on Razgovor.”

 

Root smiled at Zoe’s concern. “He’s fine. Cole’s snoring away in his stall. No one would dare approach that wall of noise.”

 

“I have no idea how that guy is married,” Zoe chuckled.

 

“Veronica is a patient, sweet woman. And he has pretty eyes.”

 

Zoe snorted at that. “Didn’t think you swung that way.”

 

“One can appreciate a fine weapon even if it isn’t her specialty,” Root quipped.

 

“Well, I’m going to go check on Harper. She had the night watch in the equipment tent.” Zoe pursed her lips, “Try not to get into any more trouble on your way back to the manor.”

 

“Who said I was in trouble to begin with?”

 

“Every shred of my remaining common sense,” Zoe grumbled as she turned and walked away.

 

By mid-day, the sun over the tournament grounds burned bright and hot. Shaw wiped an errant trickle of sweat from her neck. She didn’t relish putting on her armor later. She was liable to roast out here like a camp dinner.

 

“Nervous,” Zoe teased from beside her. They were awaiting the start of the next tilt in the royal box. Shaw would have to duck out right after to get into her gear but she wanted the opportunity to check Martine’s skills out with her own eyes.

 

“No,” Shaw scowled. “Hot as hell. Not that that’s an unusual condition.”

 

“Your humility stuns me at times, truly.” Zoe stood up and walked over to a small refreshment table set up in the corner. She passed Shaw a cup of water.

 

“It’s not bragging if it’s true, Morgan.” Shaw finished the cup in three gulps.

 

Zoe took the cup back from her and refilled it. It wouldn’t do for their champion to pass out before she even put her armor on. “Where do you and Root find all these pearls of wisdom? She laid a whopper of one on me this morning.”

 

Shaw took the cup back with a frown. “Where? How did you see Root this morning?” She had been in bed with Shaw when she woke up. In fact, Root’s activity between Shaw’s legs was what had woken her up.

 

Zoe opened her mouth to reply when Carter stepped up to the podium. “Lords and Ladies, honored guests of the crown, silence please.” When the crowd’s murmurs died down to a hush she cleared her throat, “His Royal Highness, King Harold of Thornhill and the Princess Genrika of Thornhill.” Harold and Gen took their seats in the front row of the royal box.

 

Gen turned around to smile tiredly at Shaw. “You okay, Kid?”

 

“I didn’t sleep too well,” Gen frowned. “And it’s so hot out here.”

 

Zoe moved to the side to pour another cup of water, “Here Princess, have a drink.” She took the cup down to the girl, who smiled gratefully at the gesture. Zoe settled back into her seat just as the competitors arrived to be announced.

 

Martine guided her horse, a snow white destrier, into the starting position. Over her inky black armor, she wore a blood red tabard. She ran with the Decima colors of red and black overall, her horse even had red and black ribbons braided into its mane. There was no personal heraldry on any of her equipment.

 

“So she’s looking to get booed right away,” Zoe commented. There was no love lost between Thornhill and Decima even among the common folk. Those assembled in the crowd began to grumble their discontent.

 

Alternately, a cheer rose up the moment when Grice rode out in his brilliant green tabard and shiny silver plate. He looked every bit the champion as he waved to the crowd. Several women threw flowers at his horse’s feet.

 

“Grice is going to get lucky tonight,” Shaw commented as she took another sip from her cup.

 

“Ladies do love their shiny baubles,” Zoe agreed.

 

“What about your baubles?” Shaw asked. “How’s John this morning?”

 

“Pissed off that you’re getting all his rightful attention,” Zoe laughed. “He’s still sore and he’s mad as hell that Martine seemingly got one over on him.”

 

“And did you tell him we’re going to gut the bitch for it?”

 

“I thought Joss said no gutting?”

 

“Metaphorically.”

 

“Uh huh,” Zoe shook her head as they watched the competitors set at their marks. “Hopefully, Grice is about to knock the bitch for a loop.”

 

Shaw raised her cup, “Cheers to that.”

 

The trumpets sounded and the pair kicked their mounts into action. Clods of dirt flew into the air as each horse darted forward. The cheers of the crowd grew in volume as the combatants drew closer to one another. Then fell silent as the deafening clang of a lance hitting plate rang out.

 

A chorus of boos began as Lady Rousseau raised her splintered lance in triumph. Grice lay motionless in the dirt a few paces behind her. She had unseated him on the first pass.

 

The representative of the Tree People ran out onto the field and lifted Grice in his massive arms. “The healer’s tent?” He asked the squire trying to corral Grice’s horse. The boy took off running, the massive man followed with Grice.

 

“What’s that about?”

 

Zoe cocked her head to the side, “Apparently as well as being a jousting enthusiast that guy is also his village’s healer.”

 

Shaw snorted, “Respect.”

 

Gen turned in her seat to look at Shaw, “Do you think Grice will be okay?”

 

“Probably just got the wind knocked out of him.” Satisfied with that answer Gen turned back around to watch the crowd.

 

“I didn’t expect Rousseau to be able to put him on his back in one shot like that,” Zoe noted.

 

“Yeah,” Shaw replied. She rubbed her jaw, “She may not need to cheat to win.”

 

“Still I’d have Cole double check all of your equipment.”

 

“He’s had Silva double checking my gear all morning.”

 

“Smart.”

 

“There are no stupid Catalysts, Zoe. At least not any that live long.” Shaw stood up. “I should go prepare.”

 

Zoe saluted her, “Good luck out there, Killer. Better you, than me.”

 

Shaw shook her head. She bowed to King Harold and gave Gen a wave. The poor girl looked like she was melting in her seat. She nodded for Zoe to fetch her another cup of water before she left the box.

 

Cole and Silva met her just outside of the tent. It took them about twenty minutes to get her all buckled in. Shaw sent them out of the tent afterwards so that she could have a few moments to breathe and focus on the task ahead. Her quiet contemplation was interrupted in mere minutes when Root bounded into the tent with her arms full of fabric.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“This,” Root bit her lip, “Is your heraldry.”

 

“My what now?”

 

“Your new tabard with your standard. I already gave Cole the shield to hang in the lists.”

 

Shaw gestured to a pile of green and gold cloth she had been preparing to don over her armor. “I thought I was wearing the Thornhill crest?”

 

“Like a common foot soldier?” Root tisked. “Oh Sweetie, you were made to stand out.” With that Root unfurled the cloth. It was mostly black, of course, the color being Shaw’s signature. But deep blue thread outlined a shield on the chest. Contained within was an axe crossed over a hammer, the armaments hovering above the face of a snarling dragon. “What do you think?”

 

Shaw pulled Root into a deep kiss. “Well, Mama always said learning to sew would do me a great deal of good,” Root smiled as she pulled away.

 

“Smart lady,” Shaw grinned. Root beamed at her as she fit the fabric over Shaw’s head and settled it on her shoulders. She snuck a tiny ass grab when she cinched the fabric around her waist with a black leather belt.

 

“Uh Shaw,” Cole coughed just outside of the tent, “Sorry to interrupt, but Root is needed outside.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Seems like Gen caught that cold that’s been going around. She made a bit of a mess with her midday meal in the royal box. King Harold wants Root to escort her back to the manor.”

 

“But I wanted to see Sameen put that idiot Tomas on his ass.”

 

“Lady Carter and Lady Morgan have their duties to see to and can’t get away right now. Ser Reese can’t limp all the way from the castle to collect her. With everything that happened Root is the only one he trusts to do it.”

 

Root sighed, “It’s fine. Tell the king I’ll be there in a moment to collect her.” She turned back to Shaw. “One more thing before I go.” Root reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a scrap of cloth. “Give me your arm.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I asked nicely.”

 

Shaw rolled her eyes but stuck out her left arm. Root beamed and proceeded to tie the cloth around Shaw’s wrist. “You have to go into battle wearing your lady’s favor, Sameen. I don’t make the rules.”

 

Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the fabric. “You seriously did not just tie a pair of your fancy smalls around my wrist.”

 

“Well, I do admit I had to improvise a wee bit,” Root licked her lips. “Good thing I was wearing the blue ones today, huh?”

 

Shaw’s jaw fell open, “You’re not wearing anything under that dress.” She reached for Root’s skirt. It was beginning to become a habit. One Shaw wished to encourage, at least in her presence.

 

Root slapped her wandering hands away. “Now, now that’s for after you win.” She leaned up and kissed Shaw on the cheek. “Give ‘em hell Dragon Slayer.” She then turned and walked out of the tent.

 

Shaw shook her head and picked up her helm. She should probably go check on her horse. She quickly made her way out of the tent and to the paddock where Razgovor was waiting. “Looking good, Shaw,” Cole called as he fell into step beside her.

 

Shaw grinned as she noticed Razgovor wearing a fresh blue and black caparison embroidered on the rump with her new coat of arms. Root always took care of the details. She patted the horse on the neck. “You ready?” The horse snorted as if the question was an insult.

 

“I think that horse was born ready for anything,” Cole chuckled. “What about his owner?”

 

“Same,” Shaw shrugged. She handed Silva her helm so that she’d have both hands free to help boost herself into the saddle. Once properly astride, she nudged the horse to begin a slow trot towards her starting position. Cole and Silva followed behind.

 

“Is it spring or the middle of summer,” She huffed when she slowed Razgovor to a stop.

 

Cole handed her a cup of water from a nearby stand, “We’ll get you back out of the armor as quick as we can.”

 

“Won’t be soon enough,” Shaw could seriously emphasize with her evening meal at the moment. She took a couple of drinks and then poured the rest over her head.

 

“Well, that’s a look,” Cole chuckled as he took the cup back.

 

“The helmet will cover it,” Shaw shrugged. She heard Carter announcing Tomas to the crowd’s hearty cheers. He was a favorite despite not being originally from Thornhill.

 

“I was watching Tomas warm up earlier. He ducks his head a little bit before he punches in with his lance. If you watch for it, you may be able to make his shot glance off of your shield. He’d still score a point but probably wouldn’t unseat you.”

 

“So I’m supposed to just give him points?”

 

“You’re supposed to survive this mess with a little dignity,” He replied with a frown.

 

Shaw shook her head, “None of you have any faith.”

 

“That’s because we have eyes,” Silva laughed as she handed Shaw her helm.

 

“I’m back to not liking you.”

 

“Tomas is a champion. He’s won several tourneys Shaw. I’m just trying to be realistic here,” Cole told her as he turned to go get her lance.

 

Shaw glanced down the field at the man in question. Tomas looked really good in his gold and red. Shaw was pretty sure two women in the box closest to him actually swooned. Of course that could also have been from the heat.

 

Tomas spurred his horse to rear back on its hind legs. Shaw rolled her eyes, “Show off.” She looked away to reach for her lance when she heard a groan rise up from the crowd.

 

She turned to see Tomas laying on the ground with his saddle. His left leg was twisted at an odd angle. “What the hell?” Several grooms were running towards the fallen man. After a brief examination, one of the grooms ran to Carter. After exchanging a few words, she nodded and sent him on his way.

 

Carter stepped to the podium and raised her hand for silence, “Tomas of House Koroa is unable to continue. As such the victory goes to Ser Shaw of Thornhill. She will advance to the next round of the tournament.”

 

Shaw scowled, something was off about this and she bet that thing was spelled R-o-o-t. She turned Razgovor away from the field. She needed to talk to Zoe.

 

The conversation with Zoe only confirmed Shaw’s suspicions. So she went hunting. She found her prey in the manor’s library. “So Tomas got thrown from his horse today,” Shaw said in lieu of greeting.

 

“Oh no that’s too bad,” Root replied as she continued to move between the shelves.

 

“Yeah it was so weird, his cinch just seemed to pop. His entire saddle slid right off the horse’s back along with Tomas.”

 

Root shook her head, “Silly boys never taking proper care of their equipment.” She ducked behind another shelf.

 

Shaw continued to advance on her. “Uh huh.”

 

“So that means you automatically advance in the tournament correct?” Root’s amused voice drifted from deeper into the room.

 

“Zoe mentioned that she saw you down by the stables this morning.”

 

“How queer,” Root commented as she stepped back into view. “I’ve been here all day. Except for our little interlude in your tent of course. After that, as you know I escorted Gen back to her rooms. Perhaps Zoe’s been out in the sun too long.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Why does everyone assume I’m constantly up to something? Can you imagine how tiring all that plotting would be?”

 

“Sure for a normal person.”

 

“Sameen, there’s no need for flattery. I already promised you a treat should you win your match.” She leaned back against one of the library tables, “Why don’t you come over here and collect your due?” She crooked a finger in a come hither motion.

 

“I’m not letting you sex your way out of this.”

 

“Out of what? I’ve done nothing.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Honestly did Tomas die? No, so even if I had done something, you won, he lives to smarm another day, all’s well that ends well.”

 

Shaw poked her in the chest. “You are not allowed to mess with the next tilt.”

 

“Technically, you can’t prove I messed with this one.”

 

“Root, I mean it.”

 

“Fine,” She huffed. “Get knocked off that surly beast you call a horse. Break your ass, see if I care.”

 

Shaw snorted, “Pretty sure you’d be crushed if I broke my ass.”

 

Root reached out for the part in question, “My only weakness.”

 

“Let me handle this, please.”

 

“Damn it,” Root groaned. “You begging. My other only weakness.”

 

“That wasn't me begging.”

 

Root smiled and reached for Shaw’s belt. “Oh it will be in a minute.”

 

Shaw’s next tilt was the first of the second round. Thankfully the second day of the event wasn’t nearly as warm. Shaw only felt like an undercooked roast, rather than a well done one.

 

“So this guy won his match three lances to two yesterday,” Cole informed her as he led Razgovor to the starting point. “Despite the fact that he’s huge, he seems to play the finesse game.”

 

“Meaning what?”

 

“Meaning you might have a chance with this one,” Silva added as she passed Shaw her helm. “Try to get under his lance. Deflect his shot and drive yours home.”

 

“Oh is that all?” Shaw deadpanned.

 

“No one said this was easy,” Silva shrugged.

 

“Pretty sure Shaw did before she actually tried it.”

 

“Shut it, Cole.”

 

“Okay, what is that guy doing?” Silva asked.

 

Shaw turned her head to see that her opponent had ridden out to the middle of the field. His horse fell into a bow of sorts before the royal box. The man himself leaned down over the horse’s neck and sat back up in a bow of his own.

 

“I Nyko, of the People, do concede to Ser Shaw of Thornhill. She slew the Terror of the North and I would not dishonor her actions by spilling her blood outside of battle.”

 

“Who’s going to bloody who tree boy?” Shaw sneered. The large man simply smiled wider as if he heard her and thought the comment amusing.

 

“Okay then,” Carter replied. “Ser Shaw is the victor of this round and will ride in the final match.” The crowd cheered that one of their own would be in the finals.

 

“You are the luckiest son of a bitch I have ever met,” Silva gaped up at Shaw.

 

Cole chuckled, “What she lacks in cheerful personality, she makes up for in pure dumb luck.”

 

Shaw made it out of her armor just in time to settle into the royal box next to Gen to watch Lady Rousseau’s tilt. “Glad you’re feeling better, Kid.”

 

Gen smiled at her, “I’m glad I didn’t miss you doing anything.” After several courses of herbal tea and a good night’s sleep she felt far better than she had the day before. Though she had had to beg Uncle Harold profusely to allow her to watch Shaw’s tilt.

 

“My grand do nothing victories weren’t too interesting huh?”

 

“Not so much,” The princess chuckled.

 

“Well Martine should put on a show,” Shaw noted as the next competitors were announced.  Gen nodded and turned in her seat to fully face the field. Not long after the trumpets sounded.

 

They watched as Martine knocked yet another rider from his horse on the first pass. As he lay unmoving in the dirt she directed her horse to trot back towards her tent. She smirked at Shaw as she passed.

 

“Shaw’s gonna die,” Gen yelped. Zoe merely snickered in agreement.

 

“I’m not going to die.”

 

“But everyone knows that you’re horrible at this.” She pointed at the splintered lance still in Martine’s hand, “And she’s…not.”

 

“Oh she’s horrible in her own special way,” Carter chuckled as she stepped down from the podium to join them.

 

“All the more proof Shaw is going to die,” The princess groaned. Carter pat her on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

 

“So I don’t have much experience. Doesn’t mean I’m going to die. Hello, how many dragons had I offed before Samaritan? Exactly. Still put that thing under.”

 

“You had Samantha to help you then,” Gen groaned louder. “You’re on your own here. You’re going to die.”

 

“Your sister is planning my funeral,” Shaw announced as she fell face first on to the bed in the rooms she and Root had been assigned for the tourney later that evening. She had spent the rest of the afternoon taking a few more practice runs, with little improvement. She even swore she heard Martine laughing, though she hadn’t seen the woman skulking around.

 

“Well that’s rather maudlin,” Root replied from her seat next to the window. She didn’t look up from her book.

 

“She’s already decided that I can’t beat Martine,” Shaw huffed. “Everybody has decided that I can’t beat her.”

 

“She is an exceptional horsewoman. I’m told that she was a member of Decima’s cavalry before taking her father’s position at court.” Root licked her thumb to turn a page. “And I highly doubt she’ll concede the tilt just because you killed Samaritan.”

 

Shaw rolled over and propped her head on her elbow to watch Root. “Saw that did you?”

 

She smiled, “I may have wandered down to the field for your match.” She finally closed the book to look at Shaw. “If you’re worried about Martine I’m sure I can…”

 

“No.”

 

“You don’t even know what I was going to suggest.”

 

“Something violent.”

 

“You like it when I get violent.”

 

Shaw rolled on to her back to stare up at the mahogany paneled ceiling. “Typically, yes. But I want to beat her on the field. Where everyone can see it.” It’s the way Shaw’s father would have handled things. She’d only watched him in a duel once that she could remember, but he had kicked that guy’s ass fair and square. His men respected him for it. Sure it was hilarious that guys like Laskey were scared of her but respect was supposed to be better. Wasn’t she supposed to want to be better?

 

Root’s face popped into her field of vision. “You know you’re absolutely adorable when you get all noble, code of honor-y.” She leaned down so that her hair created a wall between the two of them and the rest of the world. “You know you’re the better woman, whether or not Martine knocks you into the dirt tomorrow.”

 

“I’d rather be the better woman and knock that smug bitch into the dirt.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Root smiled. “Now let’s see what I can do to help you relax.”

 

Root was anything but relaxed the next afternoon as she made her way to her seat for the final tilt of the Grand Tournament. She hadn’t been availing herself to a seat in the royal box as her presence there could potentially raise questions Harry was not comfortable answering. Yet as this was Sameen’s big moment, Root felt like her family should be together for it. Because whether the surly woman eventually agreed to marry her or not, they were family. Still, she kept to the shadows in the back of the box just in case.

 

“Root,” Reese nodded as he stumbled over and nearly collapsed into the seat next to hers. It seemed he was finding navigating on crutches a challenge. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.

 

“Don’t you have a bridge to go hide under?”

 

He ignored the barb, knowing where her annoyance truly stemmed from. “Shaw will be fine.”

 

“You obviously haven’t seen her attempt to joust.” She loved that woman but she was absolutely terrible with a lance.

 

“Have some faith in your partner.”

 

“I do,” Root sighed. “I also live in the real world, however.”

 

“The one where your girl is about to be destroyed right in front of our eyes?” Zoe asked as she took the seat on the other side of Reese.

 

“What’s the worst that could happen if she does lose?” He asked. The women looked at his bandage swathed leg pointedly.

 

“She could break both her legs,” Root supplied. She held a pale hand up to her lips, “Or her ass.”

 

“We’ll have to deal with a pouting Dragon Slayer because she lost,” Zoe added.

 

Reese clenched his jaw, “I see your point.”

 

Carter stepped up to the podium to announce King Harold and Gen’s entrance. The crowd cheered and bowed accordingly. Root’s palms began to sweat. She really did not want to watch Sameen get hurt. It was no fun, unless she was the one doing the hurting.

 

Martine was announced to her now typical chorus of jeers and boos. Root smiled, god bless the people for that. And then the boos quickly morphed to thunderous applause as Shaw rode into view on Razgovor.

 

“At least you’ll have fun playing nursemaid,” Zoe chuckled good naturedly. Even she could admit that Shaw looked tremendous out there.

 

“Not if she breaks her ass,” Root groaned. She had such plans for that ass.

 

“Can we stop talking about Shaw’s ass?” Reese shifted in his seat. He had to work with Shaw all this ass talk was inappropriate.

 

“We can switch to frantic prayers for her survival?” Zoe suggested. She glanced around Reese’s slumped form at Root. “I’m surprised you aren’t standing here sacrificing a goat to the voices in your head for her safety.”

 

“Zoe, leave it,” Reese grumbled. He then leaned over to Root, “What does your little voice say?”

 

“To trust Sameen.” That’s practically all she had said since the incident with Tomas. Root never wished to be ungrateful to her god but she really wished She’d sing a new tune.            Or give her a target to stab her worries away on.

 

“Then relax and do that.” He leaned back in his seat, “There’s nothing else we can do for her now.”

 

The trumpets sounded and both horses sprang into action. The crowd was deathly quiet. Only the harsh panting of the steeds and the thunderous strikes of their hooves against the earth could be heard. Root’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest as she watched Martine lower her lance and take aim.

 

She blinked. There was a loud clang. Root refocused on the field and blinked again, this time in disbelief.

 

Martine sailed through the air and landed in the dirt several paces away from where she started. Shaw slowed Razgovor to a trot and tossed her lance to a gaping squire once she reached the end of the track. She then turned her horse to walk back towards the royal box. When she was in front of Root, and Harold, she stopped and lifted her visor to reveal a satisfied smirk.

 

Lady Carter recovered her wits first. She quickly stood up to announce the victor. “Your Majesty, Lords and Ladies, may I present your Grand Champion, Ser Shaw of Thornhill.” The crowd erupted into wild cheers.

 

Shaw smacked her chest with her right hand and bowed. Harold gave her a nod, trying to remain dignified and not break out into a vigorous cheer himself. Gen was bouncing up and down in front of her seat, wild curls flying every which way. Shaw caught Root’s eyes and winked. Then she turned Razgovor and kicked him into a gallop to do a couple of victory laps for the crowd.

 

Zoe blinked rapidly, “How did she? How was that? She was terrible two days ago. How did she pull that off?”

 

“She’s Shaw,” Reese chuckled. He couldn’t have done that better himself.

 

“I’m going to marry her someday,” Root breathed in wonder.

 

“And god help us all,” Carter laughed. “Come on let’s go wait for our new champion in her tent.”

 

“I’ll have to skip that one Joss,” Reese groaned. “Damn leg is killing me.”

 

“Lord Elias has requested an audience, so I must also decline I’m afraid,” King Harold added. He nodded to Reese, “The carriage should be waiting Ser Reese. You’re welcome to ride along.”

 

“Thank you, Sire.”

 

“Can I stay and congratulate, Shaw?” Gen asked hopefully.

 

Harold adjusted his spectacles, “Would you rather do that now or stay up for the victory banquet later? It’s your choice but you may do only one. You’re still recovering from your illness yesterday and need to rest.”

 

Gen scuffed her boot against the wooden floor, “The banquet would be better.” There would be food and dancing. She grinned and he said she could stay up, which meant she’d be able to be out longer. She nodded, “Definitely the banquet.”

 

“Very well,” Harold smiled. He held out his hand to her, “Come along, you’ll ride back in the carriage with Ser Reese and I.” He glanced back at Root, “Do give Sameen our sincere congratulations, Samantha. Tell her I look forward to toasting her at the feast tonight.”

 

“Will do, Uncle Harry.”

 

Shaw was already out of the top half of her armor when they arrived at her tent. Standing in her sleeveless under tunic, sweat running down her arms, Root licked her lips at the sight of her. “What took you so long?” Shaw asked.

 

“Had to load Reese into a carriage,” Carter replied.

 

Cole waved them to a collection of camp chairs he had scavenged from the other tents. Silva and Harper were already draped across two of them with cups of wine. Root of course was ushered to the chair closest to Shaw, who snatched an entire bottle of wine from Cole’s hand as soon as he opened it to pour the rest of them drinks. He shook his head and set to opening another. Harper had lifted an entire case from the Decima tent while the squires had run out to tend to Martine.

 

Shaw leaned against Root’s chair and took a hearty swig from the bottle. She then held it out to her smiling girl to take a drink of her own. Root shook her head and motioned for Shaw to lean down. As soon as she was close enough she hooked her fingers into the collar of her tunic and pulled her into a sloppy kiss.

 

“Hey love birds, save it for the after party,” Carter chuckled.

 

“I thought this was the after party?” Harper asked with a confused frown.

 

“First of many,” Silva replied. “Still got the banquet tonight.” She was looking forward to it. She never imagined when she took the job at the little forge down by the harbor that she’d get access to the good life through a bunch of crazy nobles as a side benefit.

 

“And I plan to be drunk for the entirety of it,” Shaw announced once Root gave her a moment to breathe. She took another pull from the bottle.

 

“Okay so what happened between yesterday and today that you’re suddenly a prodigy with a lance?” Zoe asked once she had a cup in her hand. She figured she’d need alcohol for that answer.

 

“It’s a simple matter of striking at the right angle with the proper amount of force,” Shaw shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not like it’s hard.”

 

“You’ve done this before,” Carter noted. “You played Martine and the rest of us.”

 

“But when?” Cole interrupted. “I’ve never seen you hold a lance a day in your life prior to five days ago.”

 

“I may have had to pose as a squire to kill a knight at tourney in one of my first jobs for the guild. Surprising what you pick up hanging around the tents.” There had been a good three years before Cole had been assigned as Shaw’s partner in the guild. She had learned all sorts of things during that time.

 

“So you lulled Martine into a false sense of security by acting hopeless so she wouldn’t try anything before the match.” Carter narrowed her eyes, “What were you going to do if you had actually had to tilt against Tomas or that tree guy?”

 

She shrugged, “I keep telling you idiots that I’m good at anything having to do with a weapon. Not my fault you continue to doubt my skills. I would have figured something out.” She brushed her fingers against the back of Root’s neck. “Though honestly, I knew the minute that Tomas was announced as my opponent that Root was going to do something crazy to get him out of my way,” Shaw smirked.

 

Root uncrossed her legs and slowly stood up. “Eat up at the banquet. You aren’t going to be able to walk properly for a week, after I’m done with you tonight.”

 

Shaw grinned, it was good to be Champion.


End file.
